


My Glass Is Getting Shorter

by Merit



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3140723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy didn't lie, exactly. She and Howard were together on VE Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Glass Is Getting Shorter

Peggy wasn’t exactly lying. She and Howard were together on VE Day but Howard wasn’t fool enough to try to kiss her. They both been happy and then they started drinking and remembering all the people that had been lost. Peggy didn’t consider herself maudlin, but she deserved one day, didn’t she?

“To the heroes who aren’t here,” she said, raising a glass. Howard raised his eyes, liquid sloshing down his wrist. There was a red mark on his neck, from one of his paramours from earlier. He had slipped off upstairs, arms around her waist, mouth on hers before sliding down the stairs half an hour or so later, legs like liquid, and eyes hooded and dark. He wasn’t the only one. Peggy wondered how many VE babies there would be, nine months from now.

“To the heroes that are,” he said, pouring a measure of whiskey into her glass and twice as much into his. He raised his glass, nodding to her and then swallowed the contents of his glass whole. Peggy took a sip, letting the liquid slosh around her mouth for a moment and then swallowed, savouring the fire.

“It feels like a decade since I’ve had proper whiskey,” she said, looking into the amber liquid. “These past few years, it has been swill or god awful sherry, if anything.”

“Ah!” Howard said, raising his glass again, already full again, liquid running over the side and down his wrist. He paused, licking it up, tongue pink and eyes a warm brown. Steve had blue eyes, she’s reminded. But she and Howard have brown eyes of the earth. “In America there’s liquor everywhere.”

He wasn’t lying. From the stories Peggy had heard, it only seemed like Prohibition had increased everyone’s desire for whiskey, vodka, beer and anything else they could brew.

“Quite,” Peggy said, finishing her drink and looking over to Howard. “I’m going home,” she said, because she could feel the drink in her legs and they never managed to clean up all the streets after the Germans had bombed them. Better now before she made a fool of herself and tripped over some rubble.

“I’ll walk you,” he offered and Peggy was already shaking her head, giving him a lopsided smile.

“Oh but the blonde in the corner would go home disappointed,” she said, jerking her head slightly. Howard’s eyes flittered over her shoulder and he smiled broadly at the blonde. She giggled into her glass before giving Howard a salacious wink. Peggy watched, amused. Some men never changed, she thought, always about the _fondue_.

“I must insist,” Howard said, rolling out of his chair, almost falling out of it actually. He bowed, over florid and with grand exaggerated gestures. Peggy had to quash a giggle. She shook her head slightly. She really must be drunk. She _never_ giggled.

“I’ll be carrying you,” Peggy said, watching Howard stagger out the pub. He laughed.

He offered her an arm. And she took it. They walked down the streets and even though it was long past midnight, the streets were still littered with people. It was still so dark, Peggy thought, looking up at the night sky. She wouldn’t be seeing London’s stars quite like this ever again. Soon the smog would take over, the bright street lights and all the houses would be pulling back their curtains and letting the glow out.

Howard’s body was warm against her and his hands respectful. He’s humming something off key and Peggy turned to look at him. They’ve slowed down and they’re just staring at each other.

“You have,” she started, “Something on your neck,” she said. He laughed and wiped at his neck, missing it almost completely but she doesn’t say anything this time. She looked away and they start walking again but Peggy can feel his gaze on her.

They didn’t kiss on VE Day, no. That was a lie.

 

* * *

 

She spent the next several months hunting and capturing Hydra agents. So many had already slipped away, to Argentina, to Brazil, to other regimes. Sometimes they fell into her lap, fleeing the Soviets. They thought that she would be kinder. Maybe they were right. She had seen what remained of men after the Soviets had their way with them. Others were smart, they sold out Hydra for their lives, selling secrets. Governments were turning their eyes to the heavens, imaging great rockets spearing the sky and going to space. The Hydra scientists promised the world.

Peggy watched the line fall. They were talking of a new war, but it was cloak and dagger. Her former Russian allies went silent. She didn’t know if they had been forbidden, or if they had been killed. No one wanted to go back to war, except for a few foolhardy men. She hoped they remembered Russian winters. She chased Hydra until they wouldn’t let her anymore. Hydra was gone, she was told, skin itching, every instinct saying they _weren’t_. They were there, smiling in white coats, asking for metal and chemicals.

She was allowed back at the SSR. They wanted her to be grateful.

She supposed she was.

She couldn’t go back to _normal_ – she didn’t know what that was any more. Peggy supposed she could go back to merry England, with London still half bombed out, she could put on a pretty dress and could find a nice ex-soldier to smile at. She didn’t. She still had so much to do.

 

* * *

 

Her first day at New York’s SSR was an experience.

New York was different, something about the air, something about how the people walked. It wasn’t a city caught in a middle of war. Men still walked around in uniforms, some had faces ruined by war but you didn’t see many of them in middle of the day, under the bright glare of the sun. Everyone else had a jaunty air, they had won and Steve had saved them all.

The SSR office is hidden away. Peggy almost rolled her eyes at the subterfuge. Hiding behind a telephone company wasn’t the brightest move in her books. How would they explain the stream of men, when everyone knew it was a job that _women_ did. The women of the telephone company nod at her, their stares curious and as Peggy was let in.

Most of the men had just returned from Europe or the Pacific, their hair still regulation length. Their eyes travel over, over her curves and Peggy’s lipstick was bright in the dim office. She’s the only woman there, no secretaries back here; oh the work was too important for that. She reported to Dooley and he had her file on her desk. His fingers run over it and all Peggy can think was _he never opened it_ , he never thought to look once he saw the name _Margaret_.

She smiled at him tersely when he finally opened it, skimming through file, he whistled low. “Quite the impressive record, here, Miss Carter,” he said and he doesn’t believe a word of it. The _funny_ thing about her record was that they cut it down, trimmed it to make it neat. The story’s not even half there.

“Agent,” she said. He looked up. “That is Agent Carter.” He stared at her for a few seconds before shrugging.

“Well,” he said, leaning back, the leather chair creaking obscenely. “They had to make do with all the boys gone.”

She doesn’t mention that she signed up long before war was declared, long before these Yanks entered the fray. That’s classified. So she nodded. Even when he assigned her paperwork and filing and something that no other agent would be assigned. She turned away sharply, ignoring the male stares as she made her way to her desk.

 

* * *

 

She dreamed of him sometimes. Sometimes he was the old Steve, small shoulders stooped from years of illness, his eyes bright, his voice always polite and respectful. She wondered what it would have been like, if he had never been chosen for Project Rebirth. They would have never met; he would have tried to enlist again and again. He probably would have hit every enlisting station he could, even ones he had been rejected from, the day he found about Bucky.

Maybe he would have stowed away and died on a ship, missing his medicine. Maybe some fool would have shrugged their shoulders and let him go. Maybe he would have died on D-Day, water up to his waist, a bullet in his chest, falling back into the water, salt water in his lungs.

She never would have known him. Maybe she would died in some Hydra hellhole.

She didn’t entertain these thoughts for long.

Sometimes he was the new Steve and she wasn’t the only one looking at him. She curled up around him like she never would have done when he was alive. They both had too many things on their minds and she had her reputation to consider. Fat lot that did for her, she thought darkly. They all think she’s Steve’s squeeze and nothing more. She should have kissed him and damned the damage.

His body was warm and hot under her, in her dreams. He’s smiling up at her, like she’s a goddess and he had the best luck in the world to have her in his arms. His kiss was soft, arms wrapped around her and she can feel their bodies slotting together like they were meant to be. Heat ran through her and she’s arching up into his touch and then he’s drifting away, a smile on his face, a promise on his lips. And she’s screaming, reaching out for him and he disappeared into white.

When she woke up, her pillow was wet and she had knotted a sheet around her body. Peggy untangled herself and changed the sheets. Colleen deserved a new set, she told herself.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t see Howard much. He’s in Miami, seducing a sun baking heiress or in Los Angeles, romancing a pretty starlet. He’s in New York, but he’s buried away in his lab. They meet occasionally though and before it started to break down, before Howard started to get accused of treasonous things, they have dinner.

It was one of Howard’s usual places and she’s sure he’s never brought the same girl twice, judging from how the waitresses give her absent stares, their eyes on Howard Stark. He winked at them all and they flush, hurrying back to the kitchens. The place was surprisingly low key, the crowd more Italian grocers than upmarket East Coasters. He’s dressed flamboyantly, shirt open, skin tanned from maybe Florida, maybe the Mediterranean. She had read he had been Europe, looking to build factories, or steal factories. The article hadn’t been clear.

He ordered for both of them, claiming it was the best pasta in the whole of New York.

“I lived on British soldier rations for three months at one point,” Peggy remarked, watching Howard’s face curl up in horror. “Everything tastes good after that.”

Howard waved a hand and then leaned over the table, lowering his voice; his tie was about an inch away from catching on fire. “Shh, Mrs. Roselli will weep if you don’t think _hers_ in the best,” and he’s got an impish look in his eyes. She thought he was telling the truth though. So she shrugged and nodded.

“And how’s post war life treating you?” She asked, closing her eyes, swirling her wine and inhaling deeply. She took a sip, letting the flavour roll across her tongue and then swallowed with a look of pleasure on her face. Howard’s watching her with an absent expression when she opened her eyes again. “I haven’t tasted something that good since before the war, when I was in Italy actually,” she said. She had a look at the wine bottle and almost dropped her glass.

He laughed. “Fine, fine,” he said, waving his hand. “I’ve had a few bumps. People claiming I’d do one thing but,” he grinned, “The war’s over. Those promises no longer hold.”

“Howard,” she hissed. “I’m pretty certain this wine is worth more than my entire apartment,” she said.

“A post war present,” he said, waving away her objections and after a moment Peggy just sighed and enjoyed the wine. “And you, how have you been?”

“Bored out of my mind,” Peggy said, looking into her wine glass. She took a bigger gulp than she normally would have, but this would probably be the most exciting thing she would do for _weeks_. The wine rushed through her body and almost immediately to her head. “I would love to raid a Hydra castle,” she said wistfully.

“You’re not like most dames, are you,” Howard said.

She shook her head, “Oh I bet you say that to all the girls,” she said, and he shrugged, not denying it. “I want something more than paperwork and filing and errands,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll forget how to use my gun at this rate.”

And Howard’s smiling at her and she thought he was going to say something but then their meals arrive and in the end he didn’t anything at all.

She should have realised that something was wrong at the time.

She blamed the wine.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from AC/DC's Back In Black.


End file.
